A Fly Trapped in Amber
by ThyWordSmith
Summary: Maki is a fly trapped in Amber; but why? Please read and review.
1. Chapter 1

**A Fly Trapped in Amber**

I woke in the white vault of a hospital, with screams ringing in my ears. They would not be the last. My name is Maki. This is my story.

My father would often remark I was a Christmas boy; I had white hair, and red and green eyes. Whenever he said that, I would feel proud of my uniqueness. I began to glory in it later. But at the tender age of six, my heterochromatic eyes were a burden, and my feathery white hair pressed down on me. I was a phenomenon to my parents; how could two dark-haired, brown-eyed, average people create such a _different _child. My father walked out one day, to find that answer, and never came back. After that, we never mentioned him. He became an invisible presence in the room. How can something that is gone, weigh you down so much?

My mother's name was Lisa Melnick. She was a thirty-two year old receptionist. With black hair, and hazel eyes, everyone she met had trouble believing I was her son; I think she had trouble too. Before my father's disappearance, I was a toy for her…something to play with, to buy toys for; when she was in the mood. After my father's disappearance, I was scapegoat. She was subtle about it; a long, lingering look at my father's armchair, and then a quiet one at me, quietly blaming me; comments such as ""He loved the springtime" or "He wanted to go to the city with us, once" made me squirm with the inside guilt of the knowing that I had caused this calamity.

At school, I was not a Christmas boy; I was the quiet, solemn one, who was the target for rumors. They did not matter. I had to win back my mother's affection, I had to. My valiant attempts took the form of not arguing, cleaning my room, washing my own plate. I can remember one time, when a delirious idea came to me, that if I clean all the plates in the house, she would love me again. I had finished the first two plates, and I had done so quietly, hoping not to wake her. On my third, unlucky, plate, my fingers slipped, and the plate shattered, cutting my fingers, and spilling soapy suds, and blood around the room. The crash had woken my mother. She had hurried downstairs to see me, crouching on the floor, holding my burnt and bloody fingers.

"WHAT HAPPENED?" She yelled angrier than anything else.

I could only shake my head.

"WHAT HAPPENED!"

I began to tremble, for at that moment, I realized she was not worried about me, she was angry about the plates .Porcelain saucers weighed more to her, than me. It was than that I became a Contractor.


	2. Chapter 2

My transformation took its time: it was not until a month later, that  
I knew the notion of power. In that solitary month, my presence was a  
thorn in my mother's side. She despised me. I took to the cramped  
prison of my room. My bed was far too big to encompass my body; I had  
the illusion of being an ant, drowning in a puddle of sheets. My floor  
was incredibly neat, for a boy of my age: the toys my mother brought  
for me were stacked against the wall: their bead eyes mocked me; this  
was a time when my mother loved me.

*************************

My anger was born in a dark place of my heart. It was a wave of  
crimson that overtook me, and when it receded, I was a Contractor. I  
could feel it: a primal urge inside of me. It grew inside me, and once it matured I harvested it to create death. My experiments were satisfactory; within a few days I had learnt the power of my ability; I did not learn the consequences.

My first victim was dead to begin with; it was a doll. I had found her among the wreckage of the attic. She was a pretty thing; blonde, curly hair, that fell down to a light blue frock; glassy orbs of sky-blue stared at me, plastic arm and feet. My eyes were perfectly aligned for once-a glorious red- as I pressed on her chest. My fingerprints appeared; reminding me, that short, pudgy Maki could cause all this damage. All I had to do now was activate it. I wiped my nose- an action that was reflex, because of my tears-and the doll was torn apart. I smiled.

We were leaning of basic fractions that fateful year. I myself, like the diagram on my teacher's board, was a fraction. I was split into quarters; I was a thorn to my mother, a Christmas boy to my father, the shy boy at school, and the killer who murdered the doll. I had to make a choice; and I did.

In all fairness, the notion of murder did not come immediately to me. It was only after I had practiced on various dolls. But one sunny day, my victim being a soft, plush bear given to me by mother, the idea came to me. I had made my choice, so it was only natural that should be the path I take. I lay on my bed, which no longer was too big, and pondered my dilemma; who to kill? While other nine-year old boys thought about trivial things, my thoughts gravitated to murder. But who to kill? Teachers, classmates, neighbors drifted like comets through my mind, until they stopped and fell when I thought of my mother. Of course.


	3. Chapter 3

A Fly Trapped in Amber

**Sorry for the late updates, school is getting in the way. **

My Obeisance was a curious thing; many PANDORA scientists question how a Contractor is aware of his Obeisance. My answer is this; Contractor's are hunters, and hunters know how to survive. They are not taught this; it is a primal instinct that occurs as naturally as tears and laughter do to humans.

Oh the infinity of summer! Nights spent in the heat, planning of murder. So much life put into the idea of death. My 'plans' took the form of idealistic dreamings, that were either crushed with the hammer of reality, or flew away like golden butterflies into the realm of imagination. The day was for dreaming, and the night was for killing. My victim's had evolved from dolls, to inanimate objects, to fireflies trapped in jars, to dolls, and then to inanimate objects again. And finally, the infinity was over.

After forever ended, I was ready. My old life was going to end, one way or another. The day was a burning autumn day, where leaves danced in the air. The date was irrelevant. My mother had used the excuse of work to leave me home. She, in her own way, killed herself. I touched the house, feeling the golden colour of power, stain the wall. It was beauty. Soon the house glowed, a testament to my power. I armed myself with a thermos of mil, a satchel of food, clothes, and was preparing to disappear, when a question knocked me off balance.

Why? It was not rational. I could stay here, with food, water, shelter. It was not a rational choice, for at that moment I was not a rational Contractor.

I was Maki, scared and screaming with broken dishes around him-

No! I am a Contractor, part of a new race-

But I am innocent Maki; I am a Christmas boy-

I am a killer, I am a thorn-

I am a killer-

I am Maki-

I am a killer-

Maki is a killer.

I smiled.

Maki is a killer.

The reports call it a faulty gas pipe. You dear reader, are burdened with my secret. Can you feel it, weighing you down? That is the weight of my life. She was killed instantly, but I had to suffer the agony of living. It was as if all the stars in the sky had exploded; my cosmos was reeling, trying to keep together. I remember burning ash on my Christmas hair, smoke in my eyes, and for a delusional moment, I saw my father, but he was gone with the smoke. I ran, with the smoke of my old life in my lungs.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for the really late update. I had writer's block which was annoying. I will try to post once a week. **

The city was a foreign beast to me; it growled and snapped at my attempts to find a place in the sea of lives that was Tokyo. I soon adopted the job of washing dishes in a small ramen kitchen. My life was one of soap and hot water, of yelling customers, and dry towels; that crumbled when I met the Contractor.

I was not so surprised; the dance of death spans the globe, and I was not so foolish to believe that I was the only player. She appeared to me, like a phantom dressed in scarlet. A woman dressed in red, with black hair, is how she will remain in my memory; details are not important to me anymore. I later learnt from Amber, that she was from the Syndicate, tasked with recruiting me. She did her job well; she introduced herself as a young woman working as a bartender. I played the part well; a young boy, who was adopted by the café owners. I could tell she was pleased, but my game went deeper than she knew. That's how I lived my life of death; a game, and I was the best at it. She hinted at travels to faraway places, candy, and the other mundane things that children seem to find entertaining. Foolish woman. When her bribes failed, she took to violence. The abduction was a messy affair. The boot of a car became my sky. I did not panic; I had my tricks. Inside my jumper pocket was a junkyard of marbles, Ping-Pong balls, and such. Each was charged with the beauty of power. My hands were bound, but I still managed to slip a purple marble into the backseat of the car. It rolled to a stop. I brought my hands to my face and wiped my nose. An explosion of flame and freedom ripped through the car. I owe my life, to the distance between the boot of the car and the driver seat. Needless to say, the red woman was killed. So much death hidden in such a small thing.

After that, I was sought after. I glorified in it; I was wanted, needed! Lisa Melnick was a fool for letting go of me. I rejected all offers to join; the MI6, CIA, Syndicate all tried. I was a celestial being they could not touch.

Until I met her.

Amber

**Tell me what you think; this was my least favourite chapter in Fly Trapped In Amber. Which one was your favourite? Least favourite? What do you think I should work on? **

**Question of the week:**

**If you could be a contractor, than who? **


	5. Chapter 5

A Fly Trapped in Amber

If sunlight was human, than it would be Amber. Words are boundaries for the emotions I feel for Amber. She approached me, one day. Our friendship was a simple, sweet thing; questions and answers floated between us like clouds. It was only a fortnight after, that Amber revealed her secret to me. She told me of liberation, and power; of an organisation dedicated to this crazy, abstract, impossible notion of freedom. I had agreed, for I was already drowning in the beautiful golden of Amber.

The truck arrived in the evening. I was ready. Amber was not present, but a slightly built woman of thirty picked me up. The road stretched ahead of us like a dull ribbon, and I feared it would snap, sending my dreams and me into nothingness. The Evening Primroses headquarters was heavenly, because Amber lived there. A mansion of rigid symmetry, and pallid walls was my home for two years. The inside of the house had killed a thousand trees; wooden doors, floors, and lives. And in this place would begin my training.

My room was populated by six other children such as me. Our beds were small and woollen and we each had a wooden drawer to store our memories in. These were soon filled with small objects that contained memories of the boys. We were silent, and solitary at first, but in each Contractor lies the instinct to dominate, and that is what makes us so savage.

The ashy cloud morning was our compass in this world of training; without it, the days would blur into meaningless colours as we perfected the skills of killing. We would wake at a time where the sun only just up, and would begin. Our instructor, Amagiri was a large man, who was born out of iron rules and focus. We would run in endless formations, until my throat was not my throat, it was fire blooming out from my stomach. Than it was breakfast, and we were only given enough to stave off hunger, not enough to satisfy us. Hunger was made routine for us, and it became as familiar as the clouds in the sky.

Afterwards, we were learned in the complexities of the world; language, maths, skills, geography, politics. I was reminded of my trivial lessons about fractions, in my old life, and I smiled.

In the late afternoon, we were reminded of the fact we were the dominant species. Our lessons were taught in the oh-so-obvious flaws of humans; their tendency to do the irrational, their willingness to believe other humans. We learnt to manipulate the mind, and that is a deadly thing.

We are not beings, we are sacks of meat, and we will die; that is what Amagiri taught us. The trick was, he said, was to prevent you from dying for as long as possible. And we were shown how to. How to fire guns, detonate bombs, throw knives, shoot bows, fight with our hands and fight; how to end lives.

In the evening, where the pale lilac infected the sky and stained it maroon, we were separated and trained by specialists. Mine was Amagiri. I showed him, the majesty of my power and so we began. And so we ended. He made me practice with different items; guns with the bullets charged, bags of flours-which when combusted, would spread a make-shift fog -, bows with arrows glowing golden. I was finally drawn to the idea of knives, with the handles and blades inked with my power. I threw the blades at the crude diagrams of human bodies. It stuck in the lung; I wiped my nose, and imaginary heart that nestled there erupted in dust and smoke. Just like a certain plastic doll.

The day ended, and the night sky burnt with stars.

And then there was the ashy, grey morning.

**I really enjoyed writing the training scenes; hopefully I did a good job. This is my longest chapter, since I realised how short most of my chapters seemed. **

**Question of the week:**

**If you could bring back a dead character from Darker Than Black, who would it be? **


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